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It had already become day as he opened the big wooden
door and stepped out of the shadows.

The sun had shown behind the eastern forest, bright and
warm in a cloudless sky.

As his eyes closed, he slowly raised his head.

Gently, the morning wind caressed his face and rustled
through his long hair

The chatter of the birds had become one with the
whispers of the black elders, melding with the rhythmic
babbling of the little brook, which wound its way to
the distance behind the humble grange.

But it has not always been like that.
One thousand seven hundred years ago, during the
celebration of the two moons, the enemy forayed over
powered the villagers under the cloak of darkness.

Brave men were cut down where they stood in the cold
crisp autumn night.

The ones who still had life in their veins escaped in
despair, but regathered quickly and formed a
resistance.

Many among them, women and children, only armed with
axes, torches, and pitchforks.

And it seemed as if all hope was forsaken...

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